Raised To Kill
by sellingheaven
Summary: Phoebe King, only 17, has been forced to dedicate her whole life to the Hunger Games. This year, joined by her little brother, they will be the first career tributes in Panem that were raised to kill and, ultimately, win the games. In the games, Phoebe will have to choose between finding victory in murder, or freedom in death.


Before knocking on the door, Phoebe quickly ties her hair back into a knot. She lets out a deep breath and raps on the wood. It opens shortly.

"Phoebe!" Selene exclaims, "get in here, come in." Phoebe laughs and quickly walks through the doorway, Selene shutting it behind her.

"Is your dad home?" Phoebe asks. She looks both ways, seeing that the living room is empty, and no noise is coming from any of the bedrooms down the hallway. Selene gestures her to head down the main hall.

"Nope, he's already left to get things ready for the reaping later." She responds, walking over to the dining room table to pull out a chair, and gesture for Phoebe to sit. Happy to have a moment alone with Selene, while it may be their last, Phoebe sits. Her friend goes into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee, with a splash of milk, for both of them. Selene pulls out her own chair, and sits down across from Phoebe, and takes a sip of her coffee.

"So," Selene breaks the silence, "are you nervous?" Phoebe meets her friend's, perhaps, concerned, gaze, and nods slightly.

"Nervous? No. I've been waiting for today my whole life, but, you know, I'll miss you." Selene looks down, her wavy black hair falling over the sides of her face. When she looks back up, her eyes are wet.

"I'll miss you too," wiping her eyes, "is it okay if I walk with you to the ceremony?"

"Yeah, of course," She reaches for her hand, squeezing it. For a moment, Phoebe entertains the childish thought of them running away together, escaping everything her father has ever asked of her. Then, at least she would be executed for her crimes, instead of facing certain death in the arena. But she could never ask Selene to do that.

"We should probably go, your father will kill you before the tributes can if you're late," Selene says, standing up. Forcing a laugh, Phoebe stands up too and makes her way out the door with her friend close behind.

As they make their way down the street, hundreds of other kids are also headed in the same direction. Selene walks close to Phoebe's side, with her eyes glued to the ground. Only Phoebe looks at and smiles at the Peacekeepers as they pass them by. She doesn't say anything to Selene about her impoliteness and hopes the Peacekeepers ignore it too. They keep walking, but Phoebe can't help but keep looking back. She wonders if one of the men behind the white masks were her older brother. If it was, her father will certainly tear her apart later when he learns of her friend's behavior.

Arriving at the town square, both girls join the crowd waiting for the reaping to begin. It's unnervingly quiet, unlike the chatter that normally fills the town. They're all too nervous that they'll be selected for the 15th Hunger Games. And it's understandable that they would be, but Phoebe envies that they're nervous from not knowing what their fate will be. She wishes her fate wasn't so certain.

"Young ladies and gentlemen," the Distinct 2 escort speaks into the microphone,"we are gathered here today to select one female tribute and one male tribute, for this year's hunger games."

This escort, Walter Daumer, has the same solemn demeanor as the crowd. Phoebe looks over at Selene, smiling at her friend in an effort to cheer her up. Surprisingly, Selene's eyes are dry, and before Phoebe can make some poorly timed and inappropriate joke, she takes her hand and squeezes it. But this time, Selene does not let go. She lingers, and both girls face forward with their hands intertwined.

"Since this is the 15th games we've had, I believe it would be a waste of time for me to explain the proceedings," Walter smirks. The crowd gives no indication of agreement, but Walter proceeds anyway. He walks over to the first metal bowl, looking out into the crowd as he fished for the first paper slip, the female tribute.

"Amelia Sandblom," Walter announces. The crowd, near the middle, backs away from a young girl, who looks barely even 14. She, presumably Amelia, says nothing. She doesn't even let out a gasp of shock, as if she has already accepted the damnation. Selene looks at Phoebe.

"I," Phoebe's voice is heard easily over the quiet, and with the part in the crowd, is highly visible, able to make eye contact with the games escort. Walter looks directly at her, perhaps dumbfounded on why the head Peacekeeper's daughter would interrupt such an important ceremony.

"I would like to volunteer."

Walter, for many moments too long, only stares. The drawn female tribute, Amelia, stares. The whole crowd can only stare.

Phoebe's father, however, does not hesitate. He gestures for the guarding Peacekeepers, to move. And they do. Three Peacekeepers suddenly rush towards Phoebe, grabbing her. Selene immediately drops her hand, and backs away from her friend. Phoebe does not resist and lets them drag her onto the platform. They throw her down, and Phoebe barely is able to catch herself. She straightens herself up immediately. Walter nods at her.

"What's your name, dear?"

"Phoebe King," Phoebe finally breaths out the breath she had been holding. Walters stretches out his arms towards her, almost offering her up to the crowd.

"Phoebe King, District 2's female tribute!"

From the center of the crowd, Phoebe sees the young girl, Amelia. She cannot tell whether or not she is crying from this distance. The crowd begins a slow, quiet clap, different from the one heard when a tribute returns home to their district victorious. It's lifeless, but grateful they had been spared. Phoebe wonders if these people will react the same for next tribute.

If they'll clap louder for the other volunteer, her little brother.


End file.
